


Anniversary

by coffeejunkii



Series: Birds and Bridges [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anniversary, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:49:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1716122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been almost a year since Phil and Clint met on the George Washington Bridge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

> My first follow-up fic to _and we turn against the darkness with intention_! I'm excited to be writing in this verse again and I have more ideas for stories. I think it needed to be spring in NYC again for me to return to Phil  & Clint.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, Rurounihime.

Clint wakes up cold. They put away the comforter last week when temperatures climbed to the seventies for the first time this spring. The thin blanket isn't enough for tonight, however, especially because Phil isn't next to him anymore.

A quick swipe across his phone reveals that it's a little after four in the morning. Too early for either of them to be up. Clint peers over the bed's railing to scan the living room. Phil's on the couch, and his posture reveals that he's awake.

“Phil?”

He looks up at Clint. “Did I wake you?”

“No.” Clint quickly climbs down the ladder and sits down next to Phil, turning toward him. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. Didn't want to wake you with my tossing and turning.” Phil's apologetic smile is rather unconvincing.

Clint stretches an arm out along the back of the couch. It has the desired effect of Phil leaning into him. Phil feels cold, as if he's been sitting here for a while. “Any particular reason you can't sleep?” Something has been bothering Phil for a while now, but Clint hasn't brought it up, waiting for Phil to mention it.

“Not really.” He mumbles the words into the collar of Clint's T-shirt.

The middle of the night isn't the right time to press for a real answer. Especially since Clint is worried that Phil is unhappy with how things are between them, despite evidence to the contrary. But Clint can't help it. Phil's the best thing that's ever happened to him, and he's still there, after almost an entire year. You can't blame him for waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Clint smoothes some of the wayward cowlicks that Phil gets when he's moving around a lot in his sleep. Or trying to get some sleep. “Come back to bed?”

“I'll only keep you up.”

“Please.” He doesn't want Phil to sit by himself in the dark. 

Phil remains quiet for a little while, as if he's weighing his options. “Alright.”

“Thank you.” Clint kisses his cheek and pulls him along. Sometimes it's a good thing that Phil has a hard time saying no to Clint.

They settle under the blanket, facing each other. Clint burrows close and hums with contentment when he feels warmth building between them.

“Did you only want me to come back because you were cold?”

The amusement in Phil's voice makes Clint's heart feel a lot lighter. “Maybe?”

Phil lets out a soft snort. “Should've known that.” He pulls Clint closer.

“Anything I can do to help you fall asleep?”

“No. This is good.” Phil sounds more at ease.

Clint hopes it's enough to let him rest. 

**

“I'm worried about Phil,” Clint tells Natasha at lunch the next day. They're sitting on a bench [in front of St. Mark's Church](https://www.flickr.com/photos/53719810@N00/14209168696/sizes/l), sharing [take-out](https://www.flickr.com/photos/53719810@N00/14252494973/sizes/z/) from Otafuku.

“How so?” She skewers one of her takoyaki and splits it in half.

“He's been sort of distant. I don't know, preoccupied. Last night he didn't sleep well. It's been going on for a while.”

“Any idea what might be on his mind?”

Clint has a pretty good idea. “Yeah.” He's tried not to think about it. Every time his thoughts turn into that direction, fear bubbles up. He takes a bite of his okonomiyaki and chews with more care than necessary. He wants to tell Nat, but voicing his worries also makes them harder to push aside. “It's almost the anniversary of how we met.”

Nat moves closer to him on the bench and nods. “Have you asked him about it?”

“No. I was waiting for him to say something.”

“Maybe he's waiting for you to ask him.”

Clint has considered that, but Phil's usually good at sharing things that are on his mind. “I've asked him if he's okay. A few times.”

She looks at Clint intently. “But have you really asked him?”

Clint sets down his fork. His appetite has disappeared. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I guess not.”

“Well, then.”

It sounds so easy. Except that it really isn't. “I'll try.” It comes out more sullen than he intended. He half-expects Nat to tell him that he needs to man up and just do it. Instead, she rests her hand on his wrist.

“Phil probably knows that you've caught on to his mood. You basically live together, and he's perceptive about these things.”

Clint sighs. 

“At least show him you're aware that something's bothering him.”

That's something Clint can do. “Okay, yeah, that's—that's good.”

Nat squeezes his hand and lets go. 

**

For the rest of the week, Clint puts Natasha's suggestion into action. He tries to avoid doing things that annoy Phil, like leaving his socks all over the floor or leaving a bite in various take-out containers instead of finishing all the food. When they kiss good-bye in the mornings, he makes sure that kiss means something. 

They end up fucking on Thursday. They know each other well enough to get off quickly, and Phil's steering them toward that. Usually that's exactly what Clint wants during the week—to let Phil fuck him toward a fast but satisfying orgasm and then roll over to go to sleep. But tonight, Clint slows them down by pushing Phil onto his back and leaning over him. He takes Phil's hands, anchors them over his head, and laces their fingers together. The lazy roll of Clint's hips has Phil shaking before long. He keeps Phil on the edge with open-mouthed kisses along his neck and shoulders, but when Phil's whines turn desperate, Clint lets go of his hands so Phil can hold him in place while he fucks into him with jerky strokes. Phil comes with a quiet sigh, as he always does. After he's caught his breath, he wraps a hand around Clint's cock and finishes him off with a precision that has Clint's eyes rolling back into his head.

Maybe it's his imagination, but they both get more rest that night than they have in at least a week.

On Friday, it rains buckets all day. Unable to work outside for at least a few hours, Clint goes stir-crazy in the office by mid-afternoon and leaves early. He picks up ingredients for chili on the way home. The temperatures have dropped into the mid-fifties and he figures comfort food is a good idea.

The chili has been simmering for a few hours when Phil comes home around seven. By some miracle—or more likely, foresight—Phil has managed not to get soaked. He looks tired. “Hey,” he greets Clint and leans the dripping umbrella against the wall. After he shrugs out of his coat, he walks over.

Clint stops stirring and sets the spoon down.

“That looks good,” Phil says, his hand brushing over Clint's side.

“Hope so.” 

Phil presses a quick kiss to Clint's lips and turns, probably to change out of his suit, but Clint reels him back in. “Hey, wait. C'mere.” He holds Phil close, both arms tight around him. “Long day?”

“Yeah.” Phil's head drops to Clint's shoulder.

Clint presses his thumb into the muscles at Phil's nape that always tense when he's stressed. “Want to watch a movie that requires no brain power whatsoever after dinner?”

“That sounds wonderful.” Phil pulls away. “I'm going to get changed.”

“Alright. I'm going to start the cornbread.”

Phil glances back over his shoulder on the way to the bathroom. “Fancy.”

Clint laughs. “It's from a box, so don't get too excited.”

As he's mixing ingredients, the sounds of Phil taking out his contacts filter through the door he left ajar. Clint's watched him do it a hundred times and he can picture each step. The creak of the floorboards follows as Phil walks over to the closet, most likely to pull out sweatpants and a T-shirt. Clint hears Phil slide onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar right as he pushes the tray with the cornbread mix into the oven.

Phil is wearing Clint's green Parks Department hoodie, which means that he's very tired indeed and that he wants to be comforted. He doesn't wear Clint's clothes that often, but when he does, it's about wanting Clint as close as possible. 

Clint comes around and rubs his hand over Phil's back, moving from one shoulder to the other. “Why don't you lie down until the cornbread's done?”

Phil pushes a hand under his glasses and rubs his eyes. “Yeah, maybe that's a good idea.”

“It's a brilliant idea.” Clint follows Phil to the couch. He pulls the quilt off the back and spreads it over Phil. 

“Are you tucking me in?”

Clint ignores the teasing tone and holds Phil's gaze. “Yeah, I am.” He wants Phil to know that he's worried and that he's trying his best to make whatever it is that's weighing on Phil's mind a little easier to bear.

Phil swallows. “Thank you.” He hands his glasses to Clint, who places them on the trunk they use as a coffee table.

Clint leans in close and presses two soft kisses to Phil's temple. “I'll wake you in twenty.”

He ends up letting Phil sleep for an hour when the ding from the kitchen timer fails to rouse him. He'd let Phil sleep even longer, but he doesn't want him to have problems falling asleep that night. While they usually make their way out to Phil's place in Queens after dinner on Fridays, it seems likely that they'll stay here tonight.

Clint sits down on the trunk. “Phil,” he calls out softly. 

“Hrm.”

“Time to wake up.” He squeezes Phil's arm.

Phil's eyes open slowly. He blinks a few times, more clarity appearing in his gaze each time. “Was that only twenty minutes?”

“An hour. You needed that.”

Phil doesn't deny it. He holds out his hand. “Lie down with me?”

It's an unexpected request, but one that Clint's happy to fulfill. He wiggles his way under the quilt and under Phil, who seems content to sprawl on top of Clint. Phil pushes a hand under Clint's T-shirt, fingers drawing idly over his side.

The rain beats against the windows and the only light comes from the lamp above the stove. It's comfortable and Clint should probably let things be, but the concern about Phil has been nagging at him the whole week. 

Phil beats him to it. “Thanks for taking care of me. More than usual, that is. I wanted you to know that I noticed that.”

Clint isn't entirely sure how to respond. “You're welcome.”

Phil props himself up on one arm and looks at Clint. “I'm sorry if I've made you worry. I have, haven't I?”

Clint picks at one of the loose threads on the quilt. “A little.”

“I'm sorry. It's just—” Phil pauses. “It's almost the thirteenth.”

“Yeah.” It comes out rough. 

“I've been thinking about that day a lot. And last spring in general.” Phil's voice is soft, with a slight tremor running through it. “That was a bad time for me. Really bad. And now—things are so much better. With you.”

Clint looks up at Phil, sees all the warmth in his eyes, and almost has to look away again. He reaches up and runs a finger over the crinkles at the corner of Phil's eyes.

Phil catches his hand and kisses his palm. “I want to ask you for a favor, but please feel free to say no.”

“What is it?”

“I want to go the bridge next Tuesday and I'd like you to come with me.”

Clint's throat closes up completely. He's had dreams about that day; the way they met. Dreams in which he's too late, in which Phil slips away before Clint can grasp him. The thought of Phil being on that bridge again is one of Clint's biggest fears. It's a good thing that he already has his hands on Phil, that he can feel Phil's there. Safe and alive.

Some of these thoughts must show on his face because Phil says, “You don't have to go.”

That's even worse. There's no way he'll let Phil onto that bridge by himself. “I'll go. But why? Why do you want to go there?”

Phil places his hand flat on Clint's chest. It calms Clint, gives him something to focus on. “Closure of sorts?” Phil pauses. “I'm not entirely sure. I think I need to stand in that spot again and know how far I've come since then.”

“Love you,” Clint whispers. He still has trouble saying it and he doesn't tell Phil too often, although he hopes he shows him often enough. But he thinks Phil needs to hear those words right now.

Phil smiles. “I love you very much as well, and I'm glad you came into my life that day.”

**

Clint takes Phil's hand as soon as they step onto the bridge. It's almost a reflex.

Phil laces their fingers together. “You know I won't jump, right?”

Clint glances at Phil, then trains his eyes on the long stretch of metal and concrete ahead. “Yeah. I know that. But I'm not going to let go until we're off this bridge again.”

Phil nods. There's understanding in his eyes.

They start walking. It's a beautiful spring day, just like a year ago. A cool breeze sweeps down the river, but it no longer has the bite it carries during winter.

Clint hasn't been here since last summer. The falcons have decided to nest elsewhere this year. He's been grateful for that. Although if he'd been coming to check on the nest all spring, being here would be easier.

“Right over there, I think,” Phil mumbles after they pass the first big pylon. He turns toward the railing.

Clint's feet refuse to cooperate. He stops, still holding onto to Phil's hand. Their arms stretch across the distance between them.

Phil looks back. “Clint?” He steps closer again. “What's going on? You're shaking.”

Clint hadn't noticed the tremors. He presses his lips together and forces himself to hold still. It doesn't work.

Phil winds an arm around his waist and pulls him closer. He doesn't let go of his hand. “Everything's alright.”

Clint can't answer. He leans into Phil and grasps a fistful of his sweater. He's fucking this up royally. He was supposed to be here to support Phil, not fall apart on him. But there's something terrifying about being here, and the only way he can deal with it is by shutting down.

Phil doesn't say anything else, but he keeps holding Clint. 

Clint knows Phil's going to do that for as long as it takes for him to get his shit together. Knowing that makes it a little easier for Clint to breathe. If the last year has shown one thing, it's that Phil has shown an immense amount of patience for Clint's various hang-ups. Clint is almost at the point where he believes that he can rely on Phil when things get bad.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers once he finds his voice again.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Phil pulls away to look at him. “Better?”

Clint nods.

“We can leave if you want.”

Clint takes a look at Phil. He might seem calm, but there's tension running through him as well. Phil isn't done with whatever he came here to do. “No, that's okay. We can stay for a little while longer.”

“Okay.” Phil turns toward the railing again, and this time, Clint steps up right next to him. 

For a long time, Phil looks down at the water rushing past far below them. A couple of people pass by, paying no attention to them. A long stream of cars thunders across the bridge.

Phil takes a deep breath, and his eyes lift from the water toward the horizon. “You know what made me think that maybe there's still something to live for?”

Clint's wondered about that. He remembers pleading with Phil that day, but Phil has never shared what it was that made him turn away from jumping. “No.”

“When you took my hand.” Phil's voice wobbles. “And you held onto it, and that made me think that if there's this stranger who's so concerned about whether I live or die, then maybe I should be, too.”

Clint's throat closes up and he looks down at their clasped hands. It had been instinct to hold onto Phil's hand that day. He's done a lot on instinct in his life, and sometimes, he got screwed over for it, but this time, he got something really precious out of it.

Phil's fingers graze over his cheek. Clint looks up. “I wanted to ask you something,” Phil says, sounding nervous, but with a hopeful expression. “Something I've been meaning to ask you for a while.”

Clint's heart starts pounding. “Yeah?” 

“I wanted to ask if you want to move in together. Officially.”

“Oh thank fuck,” Clint blurts out. “For a moment there I thought you were going to propose.”

Phil frowns. “Propose? No.”

Clint is ever so grateful that it seems like a strange thought to Phil, too.

Phil shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Is that—is that something you want?” 

“I—” Clint hasn't given the idea much thought. It's legal now, of course. They could, if they wanted. “I don't know,” he answers honestly. “Never figured I'm the marrying type.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Phil sounds relieved.

“Besides, this is kind of a shitty place for a proposal. Not exactly romantic.”

Phil laughs. “Agreed.” His thumb swipes over Clint's. “But what about the thing I did ask you about?”

That's much easier to answer. “Yes.” They already live together, anyway. They spend their weeks at Clint's place, and weekends and holidays at Phil's. They slipped into that routine sometime during the winter, and by now, Clint can't imagine it any other way.

“I know we both have our own places, and I suppose we could make one permanent. But I was hoping we could find a new place together. Something that's ours.”

Clint nods while Phil is still talking. It'll be hard walking away from his apartment, much like it won't be easy for Phil to give up his place. But Clint wants to live somewhere with Phil that is their home. “Let's do that.”

“Yeah?” 

“Mmhmm.” Clint leans closer and smiles when Phil kisses him. He goes pliant, feeling a similar ease in Phil.

There's something new between them, settled and strong. Clint barely notices letting go of Phil's hand, certain in the knowledge that he'll be there, always.


End file.
